The Best Sort of Madness
by MsAnnaGraham
Summary: Sequel to The Worst Sort of Torture. Tonks and Remus awkwardness. JK Rowling owns them, of course. No profit gained here.


Nymphadora Tonks had known for years that she was a little bit mad. In fact, she believed fervently that every living being on the planet—wizard, witch, or muggle—had at least a little bit of crazy in them. All that mattered, really, was whether or not their brand of crazy was deemed acceptable by the people around them.

She had come to accept her unique sort of madness. She embraced it, never faltering when her pink hair drew stares or her favorite boots inspired raised eyebrows whenever she came clomping down the hallway. She was her own person, and she was happy to be Tonks.

Most of the time, anyway.

There were indeed moments she kept hidden from the world, tucked away even from her own conscious thoughts and shoved into that dusty corner of her mind where she rarely tread. She had been thoroughly abducted by such a moment now, as she grimaced at nothing in particular, pacing about the empty parlor of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

She had never been the type of girl to squeal and blush at the idea of romance, even in her Hogwarts days. Why then, as she pictured that hunched yet solid figure of a lovely man who was ever so kind despite everything he faced—why did her stomach heat up like an Ashwinder egg?

It made her want to throw things.

Flexing empty hands, Tonks aimed a kick at a low, deep green couch with claws for feet. She winced, expecting pain to shoot into her foot, and blinked in surprise when her boot hit a cushion of air just before the wooden frame of the sofa. Then, with a yelp, Tonks was yanked up toward the ceiling by her right foot, left to dangle upside down above a now very menacing-looking couch.

She flailed helplessly, watching her wand clatter to the floor. "Hey!" she called down to the guilty piece of furniture. "Lemme down, you overgrown futon!" It didn't react, although Tonks was sure the placement of the pillows looked quite smug. She groaned and rubbed at her full, muddy head, which was beginning to ache. Taking deep breaths, she struggled to calm down and think things through.

Unfortunately, most of the Order had long since left. She couldn't really blame them—the Grimmauld Place wasn't anyone's idea of comfortable… except perhaps Kreacher, she supposed. But then, that was probably a blessing in disguise. How would it look to have Snape walk in on her, face red and knickers showing?

Tonks craned her neck upwards, straining to see whether the knicker-issue would be something to worry about. She wore a pleated skirt—it was one that she was normally quite fond of, but now doubted the logic behind. Upon spotting a flash of red and purple stripes, Tonks let herself fall back to the hanging position, rubbing her now-sore neck. This would not do at all.

"Are you happy now?" She called down to the sofa, waving a fist. "Curse you and your upholstered ancestors! I hope you meet a family of termites!"

"Tonks-?"

She froze, her arm still outstretched, and turned—quite awkwardly, in midair—to see Remus' head poking inside the room. His eyes were wide and worried, which, coupled with the shadow of whiskers on his thin face, looked really quite adorable. Quickly, she smoothed up her skirt, fighting against gravity the best she could. "Oh hello, Remus," she said conversationally, struggling to keep her voice from wavering with mortification. "I—er—seem to have dropped my wand." She pointed a finger past her head, down at the floor where her wand sat uselessly. "Would you mind…?"

Instead, Remus quickly pulled out his own and gave it a wave. Soon, Tonks found herself crashing into the stiff cushions of a very unlikeable sofa. "Oof!" After lying there for a bit, she sat up warily, brushing hair out of her face. "Thanks for that," she said to her knees, pretending to hold her head so she could avoid Remus' gaze.

"Not a problem," came the quiet reply. Tonks turned to see Remus beside her, holding out her wand. She took it gingerly, careful not to let their fingers brush. "Believe it or not, you're not the first person to face the wrath of the green sofa." She looked up in surprise and saw a smile pricking at the corner of Remus' mouth.

"Really?" Tonks said with relief, beginning to feel a bit better about the whole ordeal.

"Although," Remus continued thoughtfully, "I do believe this is the first time anyone has cursed its ancestors. It might be a good idea if you don't sit on it anytime soon."

Tonks scowled at the laughter in his voice, but couldn't find it in her to put any real feeling behind it.

"Erm… but really, you had better get off. That's not a very friendly couch." Remus glanced at its clawed feet nervously, and Tonks launched herself out of its lumpy embrace to stand beside him.

"Why do they even have this thing?" Tonks muttered, glaring at the offending furniture. "It really could be harmful to a person's health." Her wand twitched in her hand, tempted to turn it into a bowl of oatmeal and feed it to Snape.

"That's a good way to describe most of the things in this house." Remus glanced around, his nose wrinkled slightly. "Mrs. Weasley and the children have been waging war against it all month."

Tonks heaved in a great breath to let out the relieved sigh that had been pushing at her lungs ever since she had been freed from the couch's revenge, but as the air flowed into her nose, she froze, holding it in. There was this fantastic smell in the air, like spiced meat or old leather. She glanced around the room, searching for its source, when her nose led her to the man standing beside her, who watched with raised eyebrows.

Fighting a blush, she focused her energies on the middle of her face. As she felt it twist and morph, she looked back up at Remus with a grin, knowing her nose now looked black, round, and wet, like a bloodhound's. "Mrs. Weasley must be cooking! Maybe we should stay a little longer." She winked, doing her best to conceal all evidence of awkwardness.

Remus's face stiffened, just like it had earlier when she had confronted him after the meeting. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared, and Tonks would have given anything to know what was going through his mind. She let her nose change back quickly, tilting her head pensively.

"Thank you, but I'd best be off." Remus' voice was too polite now. Tonks wished the man with laughing eyes would come back, because this Remus was a stranger. This wasn't the man she had fallen in l—

"Yes, you're probably right," she said quickly, changing her hair to a serious black to distract herself from her earlier musings. "I've got…things to do. Auror things. Lots of them."

"Right. And I have Order business to be taken care of." He cleared his throat, shoving fidgeting hands into his pockets.

Tonks nodded emphatically. "Of course." They both stood there for a moment, nodding at each other.

Remus' face softened, those kind brown eyes stuck on her own.

Tonks inched forward, pulled by some unknown force.

Remus' arm shot up behind his head and gave it a good scratching. "Anyway," he said a little too loudly. "I'll see you next time, yes?" And with that, he whirled away and hurried—practically ran—through the doorway.

Tonks blinked. Then, with a sigh that blew out her cheeks, she collapsed into the nearest seat. She caressed its green upholstery, poking at the bumps and divots in its material. "I'm mad, alright," she muttered to nobody in particular.

_Mad for him._


End file.
